Exchange of Heart

by Darren Groth

  Caro scans all parts of my face. ‘Wow, you’ve thought about this before.’

  ‘Yeah. The last year especially.’

  ‘Why the last year?’

  I shrug. ‘Maybe because the idea of coming to Australia was starting to take shape. I figure it’s something my little sister would’ve enjoyed.’

  ‘The way you talk, it’s like you know her. You have a picture of her in your head.’

  I nod. ‘You think I’m a drummer short of a marching band now, don’t you? You want the cab to pull over so you can get out?’

  Caro doesn’t reply. She lifts her hand from the seat and places it on top of mine. My heart quakes. My pulse is an avalanche.

  She’s holding my hand.

  She’s holding the hand.

  LET GO!

  I jerk out from under the gentle contact and press my arm against my chest. ‘Caro, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. Honestly. It’s a reflex thing, nothing at all to do with you. Just a bad … association. I’m so sorry.’

  Any second now she’ll give me the gears.

  ‘I’ve blown it, haven’t I?’ I say.

  We stop at an intersection. The rain is sheeting down now. A soaked couple in formal dress crosses in front of us, arguing fiercely. Our driver honks the horn. I zero in on Caro’s face. It’s thoughtful then kind.

  ‘You haven’t blown it,’ she says.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay, really.’ She nudges the hair away from my face. ‘Renee grabbed that hand in the escape room, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She hesitates for a second, then lifts her dress slightly, exposing the outside of her left thigh. Though the light is dim, I can see a nasty scar several inches above her knee. ‘A memento from one of my mum’s pisshead former boyfriends. One night he tried to glass her. I made sure he didn’t.’ She returns the hem of her dress back to her knees. ‘I can’t hack it when it’s touched, even with the doc or the physio. I wear board shorts at the beach. I don’t really hate the way it looks, I just hate why it happened.’ She unclips her seatbelt, begins climbing over me.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Move over. We’ll swap sides.’ After some awkward shuffling, we settle into each other’s previous spots. She smiles. ‘This is better, isn’t it? We’re on our good sides now, as long as you don’t have issues with your leftie there.’

  I shake my head. Our opposite hands now lie flat on the seat, occupying the space between us. The previous gap has been restored.

  Two other things happen on the trip home.

  The first – Caro kisses me. On the cheek. Unannounced. Just as the taxi enters the driveway to her house.

  Second – she draws a line.

  ‘You’ve got a bit going on behind those cute blue eyes,’ she says, exiting the cab to the final spits of the night’s downpour. She reaches up to thumb away the lipstick from my face. ‘A lot, actually.’

  ‘That sounds like a “let’s just be friends” sort of line,’ I say glumly.

  She leans on the wound-down window. ‘We are friends. Good friends.’ She nods towards my hand. ‘And when you’ve sorted some stuff out …’

  She leaves the sentence unfinished and makes her way to her front door. As she disappears inside, the cab driver asks me where to next.

  ‘Nowhere, I guess.’

  I press the FaceTime icon. The electronic dolphin noises commence. Vancouver time is just after six in the morning, so maybe it’s too early to catch them. No, the shuck sound has begun, indicating a pick-up. The video feed of my head scuttles up into the top-right corner. My parents’ faces appear.

  Dad sits to the right of screen, arms loosely folded, face drawn. He’s wearing an E-LIFE button on the collar of his shirt. Mum looks a bit brighter, but her gloomy, glistening eyes show where she’s really at.

  ‘So good to see you, Munro,’ she says.

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t called before now,’ I reply. ‘I’m immersing myself in an AWESOME new culture and having the RAD adventure I always dreamt about. But that’s no excuse.’

  ‘It’s okay. We’ve been enjoying the emails.’

  ‘Thanks for putting more cash in my account, by the way.’

  ‘No problem. You can even keep it if you come home.’

  I look from Dad to Mum, then back to Dad. Neither is willing to look at the camera. ‘Is that the deal? You want me to come home?’

  Dad rubs the back of his neck. ‘We heard from Nina Hyde that there’s been a few … challenges at school, so …’ He holds up both hands. ‘Don’t get the wrong idea. Whatever you want to do, Munro, we’re with you. We want what you want, son.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ adds Mum. ‘If it’s seeing things through, fine. And if it’s ending the exchange early, that’s okay, too. We don’t mind.’

  Seeing my parents’ faces trying not to plead and failing miserably, my mind strays to the night of my departure. It was like a scene from a Wes Anderson movie – all stilted conversations and uncomfortable silences. Dad kept checking his watch every ten seconds, telling me I shouldn’t leave it too late to go through Security, there were always delays with Security. Mum was worse. She drank a double-shot espresso at Starbucks. She grumbled about the new video for the Foundation’s website being too expensive. For the hundredth time that week, she got upset that YOLO had been lax in confirming my pick-up details in Brisbane. Neither one said they were second-guessing the decision to let me go. Neither one said they’d be counting the days.

  The look on their faces mirrored the ones I see now.

  Go home, Munro. It’s what they want. Don’t let them down.

  Again.

  ‘It’s been a bit rocky at school, for sure,’ I say, ‘but I’m still going. Haven’t missed a day. I’m in a better headspace now.’

  I tell them about the volunteering hours, about Fair Go and the Living Partner role. I talk about the Straya Tour and the South Bank trip. I give a brief intro to my team, but I don’t mention Blake.

  ‘Sounds like an awesome place,’ says Mum. ‘Well suited to your experience.’ She trails off, then forces a smile. ‘So, how are things with the Hydes? Still going well? They seem to be good people.’

  ‘They’re great. Not sure they deserve the likes of me, but they’re treating me as family.’

  ‘That’s nice. That’s … nice to hear.’

  Mum begins massaging her forehead. Dad twists the wedding ring on his finger. Outside, I hear the lock open on the front door and footsteps across the floor. Rowan’s carefree chatter leaks into my room, followed by Nina’s happy cackle.

  ‘It’s late over there, we should let you go, I suppose,’ says Dad. His chin quivers. Mum takes hold of his hand. ‘We’re sorry, Munro. Since Evelyn’s passing, we’ve been too wrapped up in the Foundation, not giving you the things you need here. No wonder you wanted to run away from us.’

  ‘Dad, that’s not –’

  ‘Let me finish.’ He nods, as if he’s been given permission to speak. ‘We’ll make good. We’ll be better. That’s a promise.’

  ‘You don’t need to promise anything. You guys aren’t the reason I wanted to come here.’

  ‘Thank you for saying that.’

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  Dad tilts his head. ‘Be that as it may, we don’t want to be the reason you stay.’ He brings his head back to centre and lifts his chin. ‘Keep at it, son. Keep getting better. And we’ll do the same here.’

  I miss Mum and Dad. And you, of course.

  Can we really be a family? Just the three of us?

  I think about those kids in the severe disabilities class. Like Isaac, the boy who had seizures all the time? Or that girl Katie? She couldn’t feed herself or go to the bathroom on her own. I mean, I’m not saying you were better than them. It’s just … what quality of life do they have? Why are they still alive and you’re not?

  I’m tired, not thinking straight.

  Goodnight, Evie.


  CHECKESS

  Ms MacGillivray is staring, one eyebrow arched. She has her hands behind her head, pinning her ponytail flat against her skull. The bruise on her right bicep looks like a tiny swirling galaxy. Her teeth are clamped around the butt of a Bic pen.

  Mr Varzani – YOLO program coordinator, student-exchange evaluator, guest of Mother Terroriser (Ms Mac has a new derby name) – is also staring, eyes enlarged by thick yellow-tinted lenses surrounded by bold black frames. The Sussex High visitor pass on his shirt pocket is upside down. His pencil hovers over a clipboard.

  Both are waiting for an answer to their question. I pull a loose thread from the school crest on my sports shorts.

  ‘I’m enjoying the experience,’ I say, quoting the YOLO video I watched last night to prep for this. ‘I’m trying to make the most of every day, soak it all in. I’m not the same person as when I started, that’s for sure.’

  Mr Varzani puts his pencil and clipboard down and applauds. For a split second, I think it will become a standing ovation. ‘That’s brilliant, Munro! That’s the sort of spirit we love, right there!’

  ‘Thanks, sir.’

  ‘Call me Craig.’

  ‘Okay, Craig.’

  Ms MacGillivray takes the pen out of her mouth. ‘How about your mid-term marks, Munro? How do you feel about those?’

  I tip my hand back and forth. ‘They’re not great, but they’re about the same as I had back home. No worse.’

  ‘You think it’s the best you can do?’

  ‘It is what it is, miss. I think it’s the best I can do in difficult circumstances. The language difference here is a killer.’

  Craig squints, scratches his ear, then loses it as the joke hits home. His laugh is how I imagine the mating call of a lonely moose.

  Ms Mac gives a thin smile. She closes one eye, taking aim again with her guidance gun. ‘You in any of the music programs at all, Munro? One of the bands?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Percussion group?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Male choir, perhaps?’

  ‘Only if you want it shut down.’ I sit up straighter in my seat. ‘I’m more of a sports guy.’

  ‘Well, I see you haven’t joined any sports teams either.’

  ‘Nothing really stood out.’

  ‘Cricket?’

  ‘It’s got a million rules and I know maybe three.’

  ‘Rugby?’

  ‘I think I’d rather stay alive.’

  ‘What about field hockey?’

  ‘Too difficult in my skates.’

  Craig moose calls again. I’ll cut out the jokes from now on.

  ‘I’m not against joining a sports team, miss,’ I add. ‘It’s just that my volunteering is sucking up a lot of time this term.’

  ‘You don’t have to do all fifty hours before Easter. You’ve got next term, too. Today is 8 March and you’ve already completed –’ Ms MacGillivray shuffles some papers – ‘twenty-eight hours. So, you’re on track to finish by Week 9! What’s the hurry? What exactly are you doing there, Munro?’

  You’re still hiding, aren’t you, Munro? That’s what you’re doing. Still thinking you’re safe there. But I’m getting closer. I will find you.

  Maybe today?

  Seems like the perfect day to bring you out of hiding.

  I briefly describe the Living Partner role. I tell them about the Straya Tour (I don’t say it’s named after me) and our field trips: South Bank, Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary, Bribie Island, the Glass House Mountains. I introduce my team and their latest news: Bernie’s still considering names for her clothing line, Iggy has completed a third of his Infecto comic, Flo just taught her first self-defence class, the power couple of Blake and Dale are now calling themselves ‘Blale’, Shah’s still sleeping most of the time. Much of the info is over the heads of my audience, but I don’t care. Just so long as they get that I prefer volunteering at Fair Go to learning cricket.

  ‘Wow, I remember at the start you didn’t want anything to do with the place,’ says Ms Mac. ‘Now, you’re talking like you’re never going to leave.’

  ‘Pay’s good.’

  ‘Funny.’

  ‘I’m not gonna lie. I like it there.’

  She opens her mouth to respond, but is blindsided by her YOLO sidekick. For the first time in the meeting, Craig’s ’tude is something other than over-the-top cheerleader.

  ‘That’s wicked, Munro, but we don’t want your volunteer gig being a downer or a bummer for everything else at school,’ he says, pushing his bumble-bee glasses further up the bridge of his nose. ‘The sweet zone of a student exchange, as you are aware, is contributing to the host family and school.’

  ‘Do you feel Fair Go is being a downer – or perhaps even a bummer – to everything else?’ asks Ms Mac.

  I lean forward and point to one of the stats on my mid-term report. ‘What do you see there, miss?’

  ‘Your attendance? It’s perfect.’

  ‘That’s right. I haven’t missed a day yet.’

  ‘Just turning up isn’t contributing to the school, though.’

  ‘It’s a big improvement from back home. I ditched at DSS. Now, I’m a changed man. Do I look like the sort of student who would bail on school? Craig?’

  ‘No student living the true YOLO spirit would dream of such a thing.’

  ‘Word. I am nothing if I am not living the true YOLO spirit.’

  This is all the reassurance Craig Varzani needs. After a glance at his watch, he apologises, says he must get back to the office. He vows to keep in touch.

  ‘You da man, Munro Maddux,’ he adds. ‘I can see great things ahead for you.’

  Ms MacGillivray escorts Craig to the door. As it closes behind him, she twists her mouth and puts her hands on her hips. Mother Terroriser might now be in charge.

  ‘Thanks for not telling him about the other stuff, miss,’ I say. ‘The scrums. The freak-outs. Did I forget anything?’

  Ms Mac scratches her cheek. ‘I think you covered it.’

  ‘I’ve kept my nose clean the last two weeks, though.’

  ‘You have. Indeed, you are “da man”, Munro Maddux.’ She sits down and grabs a stress ball from her in-tray. She leans back, tossing it from hand to hand. ‘You’re getting better, and Fair Go is playing a big part in that, for sure. But you can do more than just volunteering and turning up, mate. Don’t be satisfied with better. Go for best.’

  I wipe my sweaty right palm on my shorts and nod. ‘Don’t you mean “best-er”, miss?’

  Caro waits for me at the lockers.

  ‘How was it?’

  ‘Fine. How are you for time?’

  ‘Still got about twenty minutes left of lunch. What did they say?’

  ‘Nothing much. YOLO guy was a goof. Ms Mac thinks I should step up.’ I open my locker, remove the math textbook from my bag, replace it with a single thin folder. ‘Do the trains west go every half-hour or every fifteen minutes?’

  ‘Fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Perfect.’ I close the locker door. ‘How long’s it take to get to the station from here if you run?’

  ‘What’s with the questions about the time and the trains, Munro?’ Caro’s hair-trigger smile, for once, misfires. Her lips stretch. Her face darkens. ‘You wagging?’

  ‘Is that the same as ditching? If so, yes, I’m wagging.’ I hastily add, ‘But I’ve got a good reason.’

  Coward.

  I retrieve the folder from my bag and hand it to Caro. She starts reading the info. ‘Shah – that’s the guy you’ve been worried about?’

  I nod. ‘We’ve done, like, four field trips now and I still haven’t been able to get anything out of him. He sleeps when we’re on the bus or the train. When we’re at the place we’re visiting, he wanders around with a scowl on his face, keeping his distance from the group, only speaking when he has to. The residents are on a rotation for the tour; they decide the places we go, but he won’t choose a place.’

  ‘So, you’r
e going to go see him now?’

  ‘Yeah. He always has Wednesday afternoons off from his work in the residence. I think if I spend some time with him outside of this tour business, that’ll give me a better shot at making some progress.’

  Caro closes the folder and hands it back. She’s weighing up my rationale, turning it over like an unsolved Rubik’s cube. Caro is serious about school – I learned that about her right away. She’s real smart, works hard. She wants marks good enough to go to college and study law. Then she’ll practise in human rights or the environment or some other area of standing up to the man – she hasn’t quite decided yet. She wants to help the Shahs of the world.

  She wants to help herself, too. Put the past behind her, including whatever her mum’s asshole ex did. We’re on the same page, Caro and me. It’s just that our books are different; hers is a school text and mine is … I don’t know what the hell mine is.

  ‘You know Maeve’s auditioning for The Addams Family today,’ she says. ‘We can still catch it.’

  ‘She doesn’t care if I’m there or not.’

  ‘You could help her care if you showed up. Might help with Digger and Renee, too.’

  I scrunch up my face. ‘You saying I’m the one who needs to smooth things over?’

  ‘Wouldn’t hurt.’

  I check my watch. ‘Look, I’ve got better things to do than suck up to those guys. Like practising chess. That’s what Kelvin said I should try with Shah. I’m gonna play chess with him.’

  Caro sighs, adjusts her wristbands. ‘You do remember they take roll in the afternoon, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So you’ll be marked absent.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘And they’ll contact Rowan’s fam about it.’

  ‘Yeah, they send an automated message.’

  Caro looks down her nose. ‘It’ll take more than your cute accent to talk your way out of that.’

  ‘I have a plan.’

  A group of younger students, probably Grade 9s, swarm the lockers nearby. In voices louder than intended, they’re whining about the end of lunch and the start of an English class that isn’t ‘keepin’ it real’. One boy, a walking goalpost in a droopy uniform and a worn pair of workboots, wonders how reading Oliver Twist can possibly help him get his ‘sparky ticket’, whatever that is.